And So It Goes
by Nymphean
Summary: Hermione makes a startling discovery that threatens to rip the trio apart, possibly forever. A story about the difference between love and necessity, througt the eyes of four very different people. HGSS.
1. There is a room

**A/N:** **Yes, I know**. It's been a while. I can only apologise profusely. And let's face it… I', not doing that any time soon. Because there are reasons for the absence, many of which include my entire HD basically getting wiped during the installation of osX: Tiger on my computer. Not that I have anything but love for Tiger. It's just screwed up my life significantly for the past four months. But it's fine… I'm rebuilding.

This is a gift fic for Emily. It belongs to her. I promise it'll be good. It's my first Hermione/Snape, but I think I should be able to manage this pairing semi-decently. We shall see. This is a future-fic, and CONTAINS SPOILERS! HALF-BLOOD PRINCE SPOILERS! So you've been warned. All chapter titles and quotes are from the Billy Joel song. If you haven't heard it, go download it NOW. I mean, BUY THE RECORD. Ye-es.

Disclaimer: Not that these hold up in court anyway, but what the hell, ritual, right? I don't own Harry Potter, I'm not making money (BELIEVE me on that one). Nor do I lay any claim to 'Of Human Bondage' or the song 'And So It Goes' (W. Somerset Maughm and Billy Joel, respectively).

Well, without further ado, here's the story. Enjoy!

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**And So It Goes**

**Chapter 1**

_In every heart_

_There is a room_

_A sanctuary safe and strong_

_To heal the wounds_

_From lovers past_

_Until a new one comes along_

Hermione had become prone to taking off by herself. This was a fact that, despite Harry's concerns, he could neither deny nor change. Hermione Granger had always been one of the most headstrong people he knew, and he was well aware that there was no way that he could change her. Friend or no, danger or no, Hermione would always do exactly what she wanted, or exactly what she _knew_ was best. And if Hermione started breaking the rules of whatever team she was on, there was no way to turn her back. Harry knew this, and so he let the wanderings continue. When Neville Longbottom expressed his timid concern during one of his frequent visits, Harry told him not to fret, that he was in control of the situation. When Ron came to him, panicked and frantic, the first time she disappeared for a full night without word, Harry put his arms around his shaking friend and told him that she would return. Which, of course, she always did. Hermione could never desert them, Harry knew this for sure. And though he longed to interrogate her, find out where she went and what she did there, he knew that it would yield less results in the long run than he was apt to get through doing nothing.

And so nothing was what he did.

Hermione appeared with a small 'pop' in the stall at the end of the row in the upper east ladies washroom in King's Cross Station. _One of these days someone is going to be using this stall when I materialize out of thin air,_ she thought to herself for the millionth time, chuckling slightly. The ministry had long since stopped tracking Apparition outside of designated locations… there were a great many more important matters for them to focus on now.

The Ministry… Hermione shook her head. The ministry had long since lost their power over the wizarding community at large. These days all the minister and his goons could do was hope that those still on their side would stay there, and everyone else would conveniently disappear. The ministry had thousands of people working for them, but what none of them knew was that, for the past four months, they had all been working for Hermione Granger.

Hermione had begun her infiltration of the ministry's resources shortly after having a conversation with Harry on the government's magic tracking devices. Harry mentioned that Dumbledore had told him once that the ministry had instruments that could register when and where magic was performed, but not who had performed it. It was after they had found and destroyed Helga Hufflepuff's cup, leaving them with two Horcruxes left to destroy. Unfortunately, Harry had no idea how to find them, except to examine his knowledge of Voldemort's past and wait patiently for the pieces to magically fit together.

Hermione, however, had other plans. She became very interested in the ministry's tracking devices, and was convinced that, had she access to something similar, she would be able to significantly narrow down a list of possible hiding spots to something manageable. It had taken months of research in various libraries— as well as a great many nights in seedy pubs with sweaty-palmed ministry pawns—but eventually Hermione was able to develop a more portable version of the ministry's detection spells. She had begun by making a list of areas where there was a high concentration of magic, focusing on, but not limited to, the dark variety. Then she had researched each individual location, first on paper, and then, if necessary, in person, to rule out those places which had a logical explanation for such dense magical activity, such as government offices, research and training facilities, prisons (Azkaban had been nearly off the charts, and Hermione had felt quite foolish when she looked up the coordinates), and schools. She made a new list of those places in which the excess of magic could not be reasonably accounted for, and began to visit them one by one, as carefully as she possibly could. Most of these places had ended up being the homes of particularly paranoid wizarding families who had moved to muggle neighborhoods and put every conceivable ward up around their houses, although one or two had turned out to be probable Death Eater hideouts. Nothing so far had been anywhere near a probable hiding place for the remaining Horcruxes.

She did not tell Harry what she was doing, and she did not allow herself to feel guilty over it. Harry was the leader of their team, and the one who stood to lose the most in this war, it was true; however, Hermione did not think that he would be a particular asset in this situation. She loved Harry dearly, and trusted him with her very life… it was just that she didn't trust him with any task that required patience or level-headedness. He would want to attack upon discovering the first Death Eater lair, which would completely ruin their chances of ever finding a Horcrux with this system. As much as Hermione would have liked to dart around the country slaying Death Eaters left and right, it was her opinion that finding the Horcruxes was much more important. Certainly Harry knew this, but he simply could not be trusted to keep his head about him, a fact which had been proven on many an occasion.

Today, her destination was the very small town of East Hambley. She had purchased a ticket on the train, which was tucked inside the lapel of her muggle jacket, alongside her wand. She had ten minutes before the train left, and she silently offered a prayer of thanks to whatever fat American God was responsible for Starbucks. She had discovered that she preferred espresso to Butterbeer. She must be more Muggle than she imagined herself to be, she mused as she sucked back her Vanilla Bean and joined the queue.

"Harry!" The Boy-Who-Lived looked up from the notebook he had been examining to see his best friend standing in the doorway. Ron was looking frantic and angry and worried. Harry rolled his eyes as subtly as he could. Not again. "Harry, she's gone. She's gone AGAIN!"

"I know, Ron. I figured it out from the look on your face."

This seemed to knock some sense into Ron. Harry felt a surge of fondness for his best friend. Ron didn't really mean to be as irritating and high-strung as he was. He was just an excitable person, and when it came to Hermione, that excitement was doubled. The redhead breathed in deeply and sat down on the arm of one of the immense leather chairs in Harry's study. "Sorry, I know how you look at Hermione's taking off… but I can't help being anxious…"

"I know you can't," Harry said understandingly, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and closing the notebook, "I get it. But Ron, you know Hermione probably better than anyone else—" this was said mostly to appease Ron… Harry had his doubts about how well anyone, least of all Ron, knew Hermione "—and you know that she's a smart, capable woman, and that the _last_ thing she's going to do is something _stupid._"

Ron nodded grudgingly. "I know. But I still worry about her. I mean, if anything were to happen…" He swallowed around a large lump in his throat. "Harry, mate, this is the girl I'm supposed to spend my entire life with. She's my soulmate, we're meant for each other. If I ever lost her…" He shook his head as if the thought were inconceivable. "Harry, I think I would die."

Harry never knew what to say when Ron talked bout Hermione like this. He knew that his best friend was wildly in love with his other best friend, but he wasn't so sure the feelings were reciprocal. Certainly Hermione had been mad for Ron all throughout school. But something had changed in her since they had decided not to go back to Hogwarts in their seventh year. That had been three years ago, and for three years Harry had watched something unfamiliar growing in Hermione, and it made him uneasy. She was still one of the two most important people in his world, and he still loved her with that deepest part of his heart that was reserved for only her and Ron, but he could not stop the uneasy feeling that something very strange was happening inside her head. One night two years ago, Hermione had climbed into Ron's bed and she had never left since, her room long since emptied out into his. But although he had heard Ron spouting sonnets and dropping the L-bomb all over town, he had never seen anything to indicate that Hermione felt anything near the same amount of emotion for him. She had never even called Ron her boyfriend, at least not in front of Harry. In two years of sleeping in the same bed, Harry had never seen Hermione acknowledge her relationship with Ron except when Ron mentioned something to do with it. This, to him, seemed very strange, abnormally detached and clinical, even for Hermione.

"You won't lose her," Harry said, hating himself for it. For although he was optimistic that Hermione was, for the time being at least, safe in the way Ron was thinking, he had serious doubts about the truth of this statement when he thought of it in a different way. For, more and more frequently of late, Harry was becoming sure that Ron would indeed lose Hermione eventually, perhaps sooner than later.

Ron nodded distractedly. "Maybe I should just ask her… you know, just to _know_. I mean, it can't be that bad, wherever she's going off to. And I can't imagine she'd hide it from me, from us…"

"Ron," Harry said firmly, "She _is_ hiding it from us."

_This is more like it, _Hermione thought with a satisfied grin. There were woods all around her, huge and towering and dense. Over her left shoulder, through the trees and down a steep valley, lay the village of East Hambley, from which she had just come. It was not unlike Hogsmeade, she thought. Barely even a village at all, closer, most likely, to a hamlet. Very few people and, from what her research would suggest, all of them Muggles. Apparently clueless to the immense, raw power that sat unmoving above their houses. She could not quite place the particular spells that were being performed, only that there was a huge outpouring of magic from somewhere in this vicinity. Most like some rare form of protection spell. _Exactly like what someone might use to protect something they didn't want anyone else to get close to._

She pushed through the woods as quietly as she could, wand at the ready. She was unsure of just where she would encounter the other magical presence in this forest, and thus remained as alert as was humanly possible.

Her cautious steps were halted as her goal very suddenly became clear. In front of her was an old cabin with a sunken roof and crumbling walls. It was very obviously meant to appear abandoned. _Likely story_, Hermione thought sarcastically, starting cautiously towards the building, casting a quick disillusionment charm on herself as an afterthought. She muttered several detection spells before she realized that there were no wards or protection spells surrounding the house. Bewildered, she stepped closer to the door, hand stretching out to touch the handle. She knew the least intelligent thing she could do would be to open the door and walk inside, and yet she felt oddly compelled to do so. She had assumed, wrongly it seemed, that part of the immense outpouring of power from this spot had to be due to very heavy wards. If this was not the case, then where was it all coming from? Slowly, almost unconsciously, she turned the handle, opened the door a crack, and slipped inside.

Hermione's first thought was that she had made a mistake. Perhaps she was in the wrong spot. For on the inside, the building looked to be exactly what it had appeared from the outside: an abandoned cottage, untouched by humans for god knows how long. Hermione looked around the main room. There were dusty old armchairs and an ancient, rat-bitten couch, all covered in piles upon piles of books and papers and other mundane, ordinary objects. Hermione strode over to the couch and picked up the top book on the highest stack, which happened to be a dust-covered copy of 'Don Quixote'. She dropped it back on the pile, and noticed that her body had taken on the pattern of the moldy old armchair behind her. Rolling her eyes, she removed the Disillusionment charm. Clearly there was no need… this was an old muggle cottage, long since abandoned by its owners. There was nothing here that she had to worry about hiding from.

Hermione was headed back towards the door when something caught her eye. It was in the middle of a stack of books on the floor: the gold-embossed corner of a very familiar book. Flying to her knees, Hermione dismantled the stack and stared directly at the cover of a fourth edition copy of 'Hogwarts, a history'. Her eyes widened and she dropped the book back onto the stack, getting up rather frantically. She was about to break for the door when a sound froze her dead in her tracks.

"Draco?"

At the sound of the familiar name Hermione turned reflexively towards the even more familiar voice. There, standing in one of the doorways that led out of the cottage's main room, was someone Hermione had almost begun to believe she would never see again. She could neither move nor speak, frozen in terror, as he stared right at her.

"Don't move," Severus Snape said savagely as he drew his wand from inside his robes. "Petri-"

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione said quickly, and Snape's wand flew towards her. She reached forward and caught it easily. Snape nodded.

"The coward's way out. That's fine… I was never really trying you know. I could have killed you while you were looking at those books, or while you were snooping around outside, if I had intended to." His hand passed through the air at his side, bumping against the doorframe, and he grasped it until his knuckles were white. "Go ahead then. You've _earned_ your kill." Hermione narrowed her eyes. He didn't seem to be looking at her, and yet he was staring right at her… _Not at,_ Hermione thought, _through. _And then, the shoe dropped.

_He can't see you._

And it was true, true and so very obvious that she couldn't believe she had missed it in the first place. Snape's black eyes, once sharp and keen, were clouded with a milky haze, and his hand gripped the doorframe as if to anchor himself to one place. _He's blind,_ she thought, horrified, _Snape has gone blind_.

Snape's face was contorting now into an expression of pure loathing. "What are you waiting for?" He snarled. "Just _do it._" Beneath the anger was a note of pained desperation that made Hermione's chest tighten painfully in a very confusing way. Snape started forward, leading with his hands, moving from doorframe to couch to bookshelf. Hermione could see him trying to retain the menace and power of his formerly confident stride, but all that resulted from his struggling attempt was an overwhelming pathos that she could barely stand to look at. The transformation was staggering: Snape was an invalid, no longer the powerful, glowering Death Eater spy that she had known back at school, the master who was in control of every move, every muscle. She felt bile rising in the back of her throat. However she had expected Snape to be when she encountered him again, it had not been like this. It made her ill. She had to leave. He had stopped several feet from her, and she looked up at his hard, lined face and into his sightless eyes, which now stared somewhere just to her left. Still silent, barely breathing, Hermione dropped his wand on the floor at her feet with a purposeful clatter and ran from the building as fast as she could.

When she got back to Grimmauld place Ron was sitting up in bed reading one of her books. He looked up with a smile as she came in, like an obedient puppy, tail a-wag. Without a word, Hermione began to disrobe, dropping her clothing to the floor rather than folding it over the back of the chair as usual. Ron's grin began to spread, and Hermione tore back the covers, looking at the wall rather than his smiling face.

"Nox," she whispered, and threw her wand to the floor.


	2. Selfdefense

**A/N:** I forgot that fanfiction doesn't recognize the asterisks between paragraphs. I am really sorry that last chapter was so hard to read. I've hopefully fixed that this time around. Thanks to Lorriane for pointing it out to me. It's been a while since I've posted anything on here, and I'm getting used to all the screwy stuff that was just starting to be screwy when I stopped posting.

A little more insight into Severus here. But not much. This might go a little slowly. Also, some Harry/Hermione interaction… expect these two to come up against each other throughout this fic. One of the (few) things I find really unrealistic about the books is that Harry never gets overly pissed off by Hermione, and vice versa, and they always trust each other. Harry is a suspicious bastard, and Hermione is ALWAYS doing sneaky things. So I figured he should turn a little of that suspicion on her for a change. Mm-hm.

And don't ask me who Harry is romantically interested in. Because I'm not telling.

Anyway, enjoy! More coming soon!

**Chapter 2**

_I spoke to you _

_In cautious tones_

_You answered me with no pretense_

_And still I feel_

_I've said too much_

_My silence is my self-defense_

Hermione went back.

She hadn't really meant to end up there, at the little cottage in the woods, but somehow her mind had made itself up before she knew it, and she was on the train to East Hambley. As she hiked up into the woods, she made herself a promise not to step into the clearing around the cottage. As she stepped into the clearing, she made herself a promise not to go inside. And as she opened the door—still miraculously, even foolishly, unlocked—she made herself a promise to stop making promises she knew she'd never keep.

He was not in the main room, which did not surprise Hermione. Her eyes floated once more over the dust and filth of the place, and she wondered how anyone could live in it. Surely this was not how Snape would choose to live? Surely he could afford better? And yet Hermione felt in the back of her mind that Snape's situation was perhaps not a comfortable as they had thought all these years. If he was really a Death Eater, one of Voldemort's most valuable followers, the destroyer of Albus Dumbledore nonetheless, then why would he be living in this place, alone, a blind man with no help or comfort whatsoever?

And then there was the matter of his blindness. How had it happened? The last time Hermione had seen Snape, he had been fleeing Hogwarts with Draco in tow on the night he'd murder the Headmaster. That had been three years ago, and since then the powerful, ominous man had been reduced to a shaking, sightless wretch. He had practically begged Hermione to kill him under the guise of being cornered, when Hermione knew for certain he could easily have escaped the situation. And he hadn't even known who she was. She could not imagine the old Snape allowing some nameless, faceless person to trap him so easily… she could not even fathom him admitting to being trapped.

She headed towards the doorway she'd seen him come out of before and walked through it. Beyond was a room much smaller than the first, and much neater. A small bed lay across the far wall. Vials, jars, bottles and cauldrons lined the shelves on the walls to either side of the door. In the right hand corner was a large, dark armchair in much better shape than any of the furniture in the other room, and in the armchair was Snape.

Hermione tried her best not to move, letting her eyes take in what was before them, eerily conscious of the vision she had always taken for granted. He looked somehow more dignified here, sitting straight in his chair, not having to feel his way about. Upon inspection, his face had not changed all that much. Hermione had thought when she visited a week ago that he looked infinitely older, the lines of his face deepened tenfold. But now he seemed to be almost the same Snape she remembered. A little less meticulously clothed, perhaps, his hair much longer and more unkempt than ever, but the face was the same. His eyes were closed. Perhaps he was sleeping.

"You've returned," He said suddenly. "Come to finish the job?" His snarkiness, his sarcasm, had always managed to rub Hermione the wrong way. As a student, she'd had to deal with it as best she could. As a grown woman, however, she did not feel the need to tolerate it any longer. She pulled a device out of her purse: a sort of facemask, similar to what silly paranoid muggles wore when there was an air-born virus circulating. A patented Voice-box, courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Fred and George had not questioned her purchase… in fact, they had given her sixty percent off, which was more discount than they had ever given to Ron. She made sure it was firmly in place, and that the switch was set properly, took a deep breath, and dove in.

"I never started it," she said, almost faltering when her voice sounded as a rich, hearty baritone. A momentary glimmer of confusion flickered across Snape's face, replaced seconds later by the same void expression he seemed to be trying so hard to maintain.

"That's funny," Snape said in a tone that suggested it was anything but, "I could have sworn when you disarmed me the other day that your voice was somehow… higher."

Hermione felt a strange liberation at being so thoroughly disguised. Her usual restraint in communication seemed rather unnecessary at the moment. "Perhaps," she said, feeling reckless, "You should have your ears checked." Snape scowled, which now that Hermione thought of it, must have been hard to do with such vacant-looking eyes. And yet he did it as well as he ever had.

"My hearing is fine." He folded and unfolded his hands in his lap, which Hermione took to mean he was uneasy. "That being established…Who are you, and what are you doing in my house for the second time without invitation?"

Hermione had anticipated this question, but try as she might she had never managed to think of a decent answer, so instead she said, "Expelliarmus," and pocketed his wand.

"Again," Snape said dispassionately, "If I had meant to attack you I would have done it by now."

"Why didn't you?" she waited for an answer but there was none. Hermione just barely stopped herself from sighing heavily. She did not want her frustration to show. Trying her best to adopt a masculine air, she began to walk around the small room, exploring as she spoke, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. On a whim, she decided to walk with a slight limp, so as to disguise herself even further. Every one of her adopted disguises were obviously faked, and poorly at that, but then she would have been disappointed if Snape had been unable to detect the best of disguises. The point was not that he accept her made-up persona; what was most important was that he not recognize her as Hermione Granger. And that seemed, at this point at least, to be very unlikely. "I don't expect you to cooperate with me," She began. "It doesn't seem to me that you are much for cooperation. However, you will kindly remember that I have your wand, and that I am watching you. I have some questions to ask you, which you are free to answer or not. I suspect you will opt for silence, but I intend to ask nonetheless." Snape remained expressionless. "Where is Draco Malfoy?" Snape said nothing. "You mistook me for Draco the other day, before your half-hearted attempt to Petrify me. I know you are in contact with him." Still nothing. Hermione nodded. She had fully expected silence in return for her questions. "Alright then. What happened to your eyes?"

"Blindness."

"Thank you for that. When? How?" Silence. "Fine. Just one more." Hermione gathered her courage about her. This next question would, no doubt, be difficult to ask, infinitely more so if it was answered. "Why did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

Ron shoveled half of his stack of pancakes into his mouth at once and groaned contentedly. "Good lord," he said when he'd managed to swallow (Harry suspected he did this without actually chewing), "You have to be the best chef in London."

"Well that's highly unlikely," Harry said, smiling at his friend's flattery, "But thank you nonetheless." He spooned some fruit salad onto both of their plates, and then set the bowl next to Hermione's empty place. "My time with _them_ had to yield something good, after all."

Ron continued to wolf down his breakfast. "Well mate, I'm glad this was it. Don't tell my mum, but I think you might even be – "

"Ah, no," Harry said, putting his hands protectively in front of his face, "Do NOT finish that sentence. I mean it. For both our sakes." Ron chuckled around a mouthful of melon.

Hermione liked the feel of her socks as they came between the creaking wood floors and her feet. It was what she had always thought of as a sweet morning, where the covers felt like fine furs and the sun streamed from the tiny overhead windows and the dust in the air seemed to dance in the light. She creaked along the hallways towards the kitchen where her boys were, feeling each bone in her body move and carefully enjoying that movement. Today was a day to take her time. She would do it, she would slow herself and enjoy everything about the day. She would stay in the kitchen with Ron and Harry long after breakfast, she would join in their conversation, she would be part of their world again. She sometimes missed the world.

Ron looked up from his plate as Hermione entered the kitchen, a wide, goofy smile immediately spreading across his face. She returned the smile, but carefully, automatically checking it's width. Ron, as usual, didn't notice, but she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a faint crease forming between Harry's brows. It was gone as quickly as it came, but Hermione saw it and stored it away with all of Harry's other disapproving expressions. She had no time to look a them now. As she moved to take her chair, Ron rose and, leaning over, kissed her forehead briefly. Hermione was caught off guard… usually Ron restricted his displays of affection to private times. And then, without knowing why, she smiled a genuine smile as she spread her napkin over her lap as she thought how lovely it was to be loved so simply.

Harry piled an enormous mound of chocolate chip pancakes onto her plate, and she gave him an incredulous look. "Harry, I can't eat all that!" She exclaimed laughingly. Harry arched one brow loftily.

"Oh? I seem to recall you doing well enough the last time. And the time before that, and the time before…"

"Alright fine," Hermione said, pretending annoyance, "I'll do my best."

"You mean you'll do your worst," Ron injected knowingly.

"Oh, whatever." Hermione ended the battle by shoving a forkful of the subject at hand into her mouth.

Some minutes later, when all plates were clear (including Hermione's) and Harry was at the fridge trying to find a place for the leftover fruit salad, Ron turned to Hermione with the happy, dazed look he always got after eating one of Harry's meals. "So…" he said mischievously, "Last night…"

"Er, yes," Hermione said awkwardly, casting a glance at Harry to ascertain whether or not he was listening in. He didn't appear to be.

"What _was_ that?" Ron asked with a naughty grin. "I've been thinking about it all morning. I mean, you were just… Wow. Who were _you _thinking of?"

"What?" Hermione asked, the word coming out harsher than she'd intended. "No-one!"

"Hey…" Ron chuckled and slid his hand along her arm. "I was just teasing you. I know you were thinking of me."

"Of course," Hermione said, her breath catching in her throat. "Of course I was."

"Well, whatever you had on your mind, keep it there, because you were bloody brilliant." Hermione grimaced.

"Ron, can we not talk about this right now?"

"Yes, please don't," Harry said suddenly, reaching for their plates to take them to the sink. "I don't need to know what you two do." He paused. "Well, I _already_ know what you two do. I just don't need to _think_ about it. "

"Sorry mate," Ron said, blushing a horrifying shade of scarlet, "I didn't think you were listening."

"I wish now I hadn't been."

"Where is Draco Malfoy?"

Silence.

"What happened to your eyes?"

A slight shrug.

"Why did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

Still more silence. And then, the question Hermione knew would come. It was her fifth visit to Snape's cottage, and she had still been allowed to enter and disarm him and question him, all without quarrel. Each time, he had at some point asked her only one question, which he clearly expected her to answer if he was ever to answer hers. Usually he asked it sooner rather than later. Today he had decided to wait.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"

"I think you know why I'm here by now." The clear baritone sounded rather flat in the cramped, tiny space.

"Fine," Snape said with his old, superior air, "I shall amend my question. Who are you?" the last was said in a firmer tone than Hermione had heard from him during any of her visits. Something compelled her to answer his question, and so she said the first name that came to her mind that was not her own.

"Harry Potter."

Snape made a scoffing noise. "You are not."

"Aren't I?"

"No. I know Harry Potter, and you are not him. Besides, Harry Potter would have tried to kill me the second he lay eyes on me, and he most likely would have succeeded. You are _not_ Harry Potter. Try again."

Hermione narrowly avoided letting her mouth turn up at the corners. Snape seemed almost a person again, but she could not allow herself to forget what it was that this person had done. She bit her lower lip in thought, and then answered again. "My name is Philip Carey," she said, trying her best to sound as if she'd said it a thousand times. Snape's mouth _did_ turn up at the corners, into a rather knowing smirk.

"You could have at least picked a less well-known character," he said in a tone that was half amused and half irritated.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to," Hermione said quickly, thinking to herself that he was right.

"Yes you do. You can't possibly be ignorant enough to believe that I haven't read Somerset Maughm, I _am_ a half-blood, after all. I read 'Of Human Bondage' when I was eleven. If it weren't for your limp, I might have written it off as a coincidence, but that your namesake has a club-foot and you've chosen to fake a limp to throw me off… too convenient. That, and you're obviously a woman. Perhaps you should have gone with Mildred."

"Oh, thanks a lot." Hermione didn't know whether to be insulted or amused. "Anyway, I don't know what would make you say that I'm a woman."

"You are."

"Maybe I am."

"You are." Hermione couldn't help but crack a smile, but she managed to wipe it off her face before it could creep into her tone.

"Well, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree." She began to pace again, this time forgoing the limp. "I just want the truth, Snape."

"So you can punish me. Or Draco. Or both of us."

"Would you really care if I exacted revenge on Malfoy?"

There was a long pause, and Hermione knew Snape was grappling with a number of possible answers. Finally, he replied, "What do you think?"

Hermione smirked. It was exactly the sort of answer she had expected. "I think you would. I think you care more about your past and the people in it then you're willing to let on."

Snape scowled. "How hopelessly sentimental. I am afraid that you'll never get the information you're seeking if you insist on mistaking sentimentality for logic."

"I've come to discover that in practice they are not quite as mutually exclusive as one might think."

Harry stopped Hermione on her way through the halls, before she could make it to the second staircase. "Come have a nightcap," He said, and Hermione got the feeling it wasn't a request.

"I'd better not," she said, smiling sheepishly, "I've already been drinking, I'm afraid. But I _will_ come and sit with you a while, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind." Harry poured himself some Firewhiskey, and they sat. "So you've been out on the town, then?" He asked casually.

"I don't know it I would call it that," Hermione said lightly. "I just bumped into someone, that's all."

"Anyone I'd know?" Hermione thought quickly. She hated lying to Harry.

"I hardly think you'd know him."

"Ah, _him,"_ Harry said meaningfully, and for a moment Hermione thought she was sunk. But the Harry continued on. "Any sort of romantic interest?"

"Harry!" Hermione scolded quietly, "Of course not."

"No," Harry said, staring into his glass, "Of course not indeed. What was I thinking?" They were silent for a moment, surveying each other surreptitiously. Harry broke the silence first. "He loves you, you know."

Hermione, whose mind was firmly on the events of the day, did not immediately realize who Harry was talking about, but when she did, she nodded quietly, assuming a neutral expression. "Yes, I know."

"I hope you don't intend to break his heart." It was rather a more gentle warning than Hermione had expected, but it did seem like a warning nonetheless.

"I don't intend to," she said carefully. "You know that's the last thing I'd want. I'm doing everything I can to take care of his heart the best I know how."

"Oddly, I believe you." Harry got up to refill his now empty glass, and took the leisure of making one up for Hermione, who took it without protest. Harry sat back down across from her with a sigh. "Hermione, for the record, I know what it is not to love someone you're supposed to. I know that it can't be helped, no matter what you try to do. But that doesn't make it easier for the one who's in love with you."

"And Harry, for the record, this conversation makes me feel very uncomfortable." Hermione was beginning to feel irritable by this point for reasons she was sure had nothing to do with the alcohol. "And I can't really see how any of this involves you."

"You two are my best friends, my only friends really," Harry said quietly, "And I love you both more than anyone or anything in this world. So yes, it damn well does involve me."

Hermione was slightly taken aback at this sudden declaration of emotion. Harry rarely ever expressed his true feelings with words, and to hear them stated so plainly somehow made up for the awkwardness of his confrontation. She nodded solemnly. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"You're uncomfortable, it's completely understandable." He smiled a little. "Anyway, I'm not trying to get you to do anything you feel you can't do. All I'm doing is asking you to be careful with Ron. That's it."

Hermione smiled at this. It was so very like Harry, ever the protector. He was not accusing her; he was just protecting his friend. "Harry, you know I'd never purposely do anything to harm Ron. Of course I'll be careful. I mean, come on… this is _me_, Harry, have you ever known me to be reckless?"

"No. But that doesn't mean you haven't been. It just means I haven't caught you yet."

Hermione laughed quietly with a heart full of dread. "You have nothing to worry about," she said, and swallowed what was left of her drink. "Goodnight, Harry."

Review, man. More coming soon.


	3. So Will You Soon, I Suppose

**A/N: **Thanks for waiting… here's the next chapter. This is the last of the preamble, I swear. It's gonna start getting interesting after this (promises, promises…).

A few words before getting started:

It has come to my attention that I'm writing Ron as really annoying in this fic. I don't mean to, it just happened. I feel I need to take this opportunity to say that, regardless of the fact that he is an impediment to the HG/SS relationship, I really do like Ron. I think he is an honest and innocent character with an admirably huge heart, and I really like him a whole hell of a lot. I just can't write him. Sorry.

Also, this chapter makes me happy because I've included some subtext to one of my favorite ships. Don't expect elaboration… this story is not about either of these characters' romantic lives. But I couldn't resist ;) Kudos to Em for figuring it out.

WARNING: this fic is on the brink of becoming epic. I wanted to keep it short-ish, but it's moving in an entirely different direction now. So y'all had better take your coats off and stay a while.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

_And every time I've held a rose_

_It seems I've only felt the thorns_

_And so it goes, and so it goes_

_And so will you soon, I suppose…_

"You may fix yourself a drink if you wish." Hermione had now been to see Snape six times, this being the seventh, and she found that it was best to take the alcohol when it was offered, as things general ran much more smoothly after a drink or two. She poured herself a drink (Snape kept his personal favorite beside his chair, and preferred, she had found, to make his own) and started towards him. She thought she saw a faint smirk ghosting across his face.

"What is it?" She asked carefully, suspicious. She had already disarmed him, and was sure by now that she was perfectly safe, but she tried to be aware of everything nonetheless.

"I was just observing that, of the four different types of cognac in that cupboard, you always manage to choose the most expensive." This time he smirked openly. "Definitely a woman."

Hermione shook her head and tried not to smile. "And how would _you_ know which bottle I'd picked?"

"I can smell it," He replied. "I have a very keen sense of smell. The blindness only helps with that."

"Oh." Hermione took a sip. It was, without a doubt, the best thing she had ever had to drink. It was smooth, with a sharp, fragrant nose, and felt almost viscous on her tongue. "Well, since you pointed it out, I have to admit that the Cognac is half the reason I keep coming back."

"You should be careful," Snape said monotonously, "I could be poisoning you."

"You're not. I checked." She thought she saw a ghost of a smile crossing his face.

"That's good. I would be insulted if you hadn't." Hermione just took another long sip from her glass and took a seat in the chair across from his.

"So," she began, examining his frozen face carefully, "I think you know by now what I'm about to ask you." Snape said nothing, and remained completely impassive. "Okay. Where is Draco Malfoy?" She was about to continue with her second question when she was shocked by the sound of Snape's voice.

"It has occurred to me," he said carefully, "That you most likely do not wish to come into contact with Draco. In fact, if I told you where he is, I doubt very much that you would seek him out at all."

Hermione was very perplexed. "That's ridiculous… I've been asking you for over a month now to tell me where he is. Why would I bother asking if I didn't intend to use the information?"

Snape's token smirk appeared on his sightless face. "Because if you go after Draco, he WILL tell me. And then your meticulously crafted cover will be blown. And since I am much more valuable to you than Malfoy could ever be, and you can't afford for me to know who you are, you will leave him alone." It seemed a mild enough explanation, but the last part was spoken in such a way that it forced Hermione, for the first time in weeks, to question her safety. Fighting back a chill at the reminder of what this man was capable of, Hermione leaned forward in her seat and stared him down, as if he could see her.

"It bothers you, doesn't it? The idea that I might exact some sort of revenge on Malfoy?" Predictably, Snape said nothing. Hermione shook her head. "What is he to you, anyway?" she fully expected silence in return for her question, but Snape surprised her again with an answer.

"What are your eyes to you? When you truly know the answer to that, then you will know what Draco is to me."

Hermione was taken aback, but couldn't afford to slow down, not with the progress she was making. "I wouldn't have pegged you as one who would admit to their own dependence."

Snape shook his head slightly. "Like I said, you can only know when you know the answer to that question. And until you've lost your sight, you never will." Hermione felt a sharp pang of pity at his words. She hadn't realized just how much he cared about the loss of his vision.

"I'm sorry, Professor," She said quietly.

Snape raised his head sharply, but Hermione saw it move in slow motion as the realization of her error hit her square between the eyes. She felt a slow burn start at he tips of her toes and gather speed and intensity as it rushed towards her face. It was that sensation she had felt all her life whenever she realized suddenly that she was in a great amount of trouble. Snape's face could hardly be described as victorious, but it did betray his pride at having outlasted her.

"I knew it was you," he hissed, seeming somehow more serpentine than usual. Hermione remained frozen for another fraction of a second before she leapt to her feet, spilling fine cognac across the rug, threw Snape's wand at him, and, shaking uncontrollably, apparated from the cottage, leaving Snape alone.

oooOOooo

Hermione ran up the front steps of Grimmauld Place as quickly as she could. On the top step she paused, doing her best to calm herself. It would be ten times worse if Harry were to discover exactly why she was so upset. She opened the door slowly, and closed it very carefully, and as quietly as she could. It was not to avoid the portrait of Mrs. Black that she took such care in entering the house; two years before, Harry, in his grief and anger at Dumbledore's murder, had finally reached the end of his rope with the raging pureblood and, with a few words in Parseltongue that Hermione and Ron could not even begin to understand, melted the portrait right off the wall. No, it was to avoid Harry and Ron that Hermione all but snuck into the house.

No such luck. Ron appeared in the doorway to the kitchen the second after she closed the door. "Good! You're back!" He said cheerfully, coming over to plant a kiss on her temple. She gave him the best smile she could, and he returned it with one that she knew was genuine. "Harry's making roast beef," he said, his eyes glazing over, "We thought you were going to miss it."

"Would I do a thing like that?" She replied, shaking her head. "Honestly, Ron." They stepped into the kitchen, and Hermione felt her brain swell painfully inside her head.

Sitting at the table was half of the Weasley clan, plus Neville, Luna, Tonks and Remus Lupin. Harry was, as usual, at the stove. Hermione wished she could crawl under the table and pretend that none of the people in the room had ever been born. Instead, she smiled again and began to greet everyone.

There were four Weasleys present including Ron. Ginny was involved in an active conversation with Neville and Luna, Fred was attempting to convince Tonks that it was a good idea to Blackmail Remus for Marauder secrets, and Charlie was leaning over the back of his chair, talking with Harry. Hermione quickly made a beeline for the second-eldest Weasley, plopping gracelessly into one of the empty chairs beside him. She noted, with no small amount of relief, that Ron had remained on the other side of the kitchen and was now fully watching the war of wills that was occurring between Tonks and Fred alongside a bemused Remus. As Harry went back to whatever he was stirring on the stovetop, Charlie turned in his chair and gave her a broad smile.

"You look like hell," he said frankly. "How're you doing?"

Hermione just shook her head and smiled a little at his honesty. Of all the Weasleys, Charlie was the one she got along with best. The many summers and other holidays spent at the Burrow had given her enough time with each member of the Weasley family that she felt she knew them all about as well as they knew each other, and possibly even better in some cases. But she found none of them as easy to understand of communicate with as Charlie was. Hermione thought that, if she were to ever have a brother, she would have wanted him to be exactly like Charlie.

"I'm just a little over-tired, I think." Charlie rolled his eyes knowingly.

"You can't fix everyone's problems if you kill yourself by working on them too hard." Hermione allowed herself to feel genuinely amused.

"I'm trying not to." She wanted to get off of this line of conversation. She had the very familiar feeling that Harry was listening from the stove despite his completely disinterested stance. He always watched her much more carefully when she got back, and he watched her carefully enough as it was. "So… how's Romania?"

"Good, as always. The dragons are all behaving nicely, and so far we haven't seen any attempts from Voldemort to recruit them. We're keeping an eye out." He broke with his serious air and grinned. "Actually, I was just telling Harry that Norbert sired a brood recently with one of our female Ridgebacks."

"Really?" Hermione was grateful for the distraction of some completely harmless and (she supposed) good news. "Fantastic! Hagrid will be thrilled." A thought occurred to her. "I hope all the eggs were accounted for before hatching?" Charlie laughed.

"Don't worry, we were especially careful. This lot was a huge priority… Ernestine is one of the most beautiful and powerful dragons in the colony. We've been trying to get those two together for a couple years now, but they've been taking it slow."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "You would too, if you mated for life!" Charlie simply shrugged.

"I hope to. Someday."

"Dinner!" Harry interrupted, placing a huge platter of roast beef and potatoes on the table. Ron took the chair on Hermione's other side, Harry on Charlie's, and Everyone began to help themselves, both magically and manually, to the feast.

On a normal day, Hermione actually enjoyed the presence of her friends at the evening meal. As much as she loved Ron and Harry, the closeness between the three of them was sometimes stifling, and having other people around actually made her feel as though she had more space. Remus' presence was not uncommon; he was at Grimmuald place at least twice a week, and had his own rooms there. Where Remus went, so did Tonks, and so the young Auror was also a fixture in the household. The other stayed in the many guest rooms whenever they felt the urge to visit, or when Harry called a meeting.

With Dumbledore gone, the Order of the Phoenix had all but disintegrated. With the majority of the senior-most members of the Order involved on one level or another of the ministry, they were all still active in the war, fighting now at an official level as opposed to covertly through a leader who was at odds with the minister. As for the younger members, and those who were not involved with the ministry, they had flocked to Harry upon hearing of Dumbledore's death. It seemed the only logical thing to do, really, with Dumbledore gone. In the months after Dumbledore's death, Harry had begun to emerge as a powerful wizard in his own right, and his powers had only increased after his seventeenth birthday, when he was legally entitled to use his powers outside of Hogwarts. There were a number of theories regarding the sudden astonishing increase in Harry's powers, but no one truly knew how or why Harry had suddenly more than tripled his magical abilities. Hermione suspected it was the lack of Dumbledore's magical presence; without a dominant magical force nearby, Harry's magic had automatically begun to advance towards it's full potential. She had no way of confirming her suspicions, but Hermione had the very strong feeling whenever she watched Harry directing the war effort that she was looking at something very much like what Albus Dumbledore had been over a hundred years ago.

On any given night there would be a dozen or so guests staying at Grimmauld place, and despite the raging war there was a sense of kinship and of comfort when the house was full that was somewhat lacking when it was just Ron and Hermione and Harry there. Hermione knew it was bittersweet for Harry that the war should give him the family he'd always longed for.

The dinner was delicious, and when the dishes were cleared away and the table was clean, Harry commanded their attention. The group watched him silently. "As you know, it is October 17th. In a fortnight, it will be Hallowe'en. I believe we should all be on our guard… this year marks the twentieth anniversary of my parent's death." There was no sign of emotion as Harry mentioned his parents, but Hermione could see it moving just behind his eyes, and she wondered who he thought he was kidding. "I believe that Voldemort will stage some sort of grand gesture to… mark the occasion." A hint of sourness crept into Harry's voice, and Hermione fought the urge to place a comforting hand on his arm, knowing he would not appreciate the personal contact while attempting to remain in control.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Remus asked seriously, taking Tonks' hand in his discreetly.

"For now, we keep our eyes open, try to find out anything and everything we can. Remus, you will continue to keep track of the known Voldemort supporters, as well as those suspected to be death eaters. Bill Weasley will be joining you on that front, and I need someone else to help with that." Neville nodded firmly. "Thanks Neville. Luna… I need a favour." The starry-eyed girl looked up at Harry with a wisp of a smile.

"Of course."

"I need to speak with your father about running an article. We have to stir things up before we'll get any sort of information. Eventually, if we test the Death Eaters' vanity in just the right way, someone's bound to let something slip." Hermione smiled openly at this. Ever since Harry had nearly publicly denounced the Daily Prophet by running all his exclusive interviews in the Quibbler, the two-bit rag had begun to change gradually, until it was viewed by most of the public as almost reputable on certain subjects. Harry Potter, Voldemort, and anything even remotely Death Eater related were some of those subjects.

"He'll do it," Luna said cheerfully, "I'll set you an appointment."

"Great, thanks." Harry surveyed the group slowly. "The rest of you, that's about all I have right now. I'm sure there will be more to do than we can handle in short order, however, so keep your schedules clean, and stay in touch as much as possible. There's just one more thing…" He paused again to look around the table. "I need to take a trip very soon, and I'm going to require some assistance."

"Where to, Harry?" Fred asked conversationally.

"Azkaban." The entire room fell deathly silent. Harry gave the group a wry smile. "Don't worry… I'm not making any of you go. I've been preparing for this for some time now… Moody has offered to come in the event that I need him."

"_Moody_ is your escort to Azkaban?" Ron asked, looking very pale. "Do you _want_ to lose your mind completely?"

"I'll go." Nine heads whipped around to stare at Ginny Weasley. Fred was first to speak.

"What?"

"I said I'll go." Ginny looked very determined. Hermione looked up at Harry, whose face was impassive. Charlie, on the other hand, looked as though he were about to explode.

"You will not," Charlie said lethally, eyes trained on his sister. "Over my dead body." Her looked up at Harry. "I'm going with you."

"Charlie," Harry began, but the Dragon Handler raised a finger in an almost warning gesture.

"I'm going," he said firmly. Harry nodded shortly.

"Charlie will come with me." This was met by the same stunned silence from the group, as well as a cry of indignation from Ginny.

"But I said—" Harry put up a hand to silence her.

"Not this time, Ginny." The youngest Weasley crossed her arms sullenly.

"Why do you need to go to Azkaban, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly, stamping down her anger at not having been told of this plan before hand.

"I believe something very important is hidden there," He said, giving her a pointed look. "I am going to see if I can find it and retrieve it." Hermione's eyes widened, but she said nothing, not knowing if Harry wanted to share information about the Horcruxes with the entire group.

Harry knew that the level of discomfort in the room had reached the breaking point, and he swiftly directed the group's attention to other, more benign topics, and soon the kitchen was humming with conversation again. Harry was clearing the table without magic, and casually asked Hermione to give him a hand with the leftover potatoes. She followed him, arms laden, to the counter, their backs turned on the group.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said beneath his breath. Startled, Hermione searched his face. He appeared genuinely troubled, but she was not sure that his keeping her in the dark was the cause.

"It's okay," she said quickly.

"No, It's not." Harry gave her a contrite little smile. "You were upset." He surprised her again by placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll talk soon. I've some matters to discuss with you privately, especially if I'm right about Azkaban."

"Alright." Hermione felt a sudden surge of affection as Harry smiled once more and turned back to the counter. It had been so long since she had felt any sort of closeness to her best friend, the boy who for so many years had been like a brother to her. They had been drifting apart, and this sudden act of reassurance had caught her off guard. She had thought that she'd fallen out of Harry's trust. _Not that you deserve to be within it_, her conscience nagged, as thoughts of a certain former Hogwarts professor returned to her head.

Thankfully, her thoughts were interrupted by Ron deciding it was time to dispense to after-dinner drinks. Hermione had never been so thankful for the pleasant burn of Firewhisky in her entire life.

ooooOOOOoooo

Hermione was awakened at midnight by a quiet taping on the window. She deftly slid from between the covers, careful not to wake Ron, and slid on her bathrobe, shivering in the chilly air. She lifted the window slightly and a medium-sized black owl extended it's leg to her, flying away immediately when she removed the attached parchment. She unfolded the note, furrowing her brow in confusion when the page appeared to be blank. She held it up to the moonlight, examining the parchment from all angles, and attempted a revealing spell. Slowly, a line of text began to appear, making Hermione think briefly of the stories Ginny had told her of tom Riddle's journal. She squinted to read the text in the dull moonlight.

_Are you alone?_

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Ron, still snoring softly in the bed behind her, pulled her robe tighter and then swiftly crossed the room, locking herself in the bathroom. She repeated the revealing spell, and the real note appeared.

_In exchange for your silence and discretion, the answer to the first of your questions will be provided._

_Your trust is neither expected nor required, but your presence is necessary._

_You are not in any danger._

Hermione set the letter down, not surprised when it disintegrated as it left her hand. Every one of her instincts told her that this was the most obvious of traps.

As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and splashed her face with cold water, she refrained from asking herself why she was so willing to step into it. She did not want to know the answer.


	4. If My Silence Made You Leave

**A/N:** What? Did you think I was dead or something?

Well, I'm not. Just living most of my life in the RW these days. I haven't abandoned this story in the least (or the rest of them for that matter)… I'm just crazy busy with RL.

Anywhoodle, new chapter. I hope you like Draco Malfoy. I kinda do. That is all.

-Nymphean

**Chapter 4**

…_But if my silence made you leave_

_Then that would be my worst mistake…_

"I wasn't sure you would return."

Snape was in his chair, as always, with Hermione standing rigidly in the doorway. She looked at him uneasily, feeling once again on edge, as she had when she had first discovered her former Potions Professor's whereabouts. She did not know why she should feel nervous now, as opposed to the relative ease she'd felt before. Certainly, the lack of anonymity contributed to her nerves. "Neither was I," she said quietly. Snape actually tilted his head in her direction, as if to look at her, at the sound of her natural voice. "I believe you offered me an answer."

Snape nodded slowly. "And I will give it to you… will you have a drink?"

"No. Thank you."

He smirked slightly. "Miss Granger, I am no more likely to poison you now than I was before."

"I'm not thirsty."

He gestured to the room before him. "Then have a seat, at least." Reluctantly, Hermione complied. Snape breathed deeply. "First of all, let me say that knowing your identity changes nothing in this situation. There were only a handful of people I suspected you to be to begin with. The only thing that has changed now is that I have the assurance of your confidentiality."

"Fine," Hermione said shortly. "I've already given you my word that I'll keep quiet. In exchange for information on Malfoy and his whereabouts." She straightened in her chair. "So without wasting any more time… Where is Malfoy?"

Snape pursed his lips. "I cannot tell you where he is staying…"

"What?" Hermione jumped out of her seat and leaned towards the Potions Master. "We have an agreement, Snape! You said—"

"Will you exercise some patience, Miss Granger?" He snapped, sounding eerily like the Professor she'd known back at Hogwarts. "What I am offering is, I think you'll find, better than that. Even if you knew where Draco was, you wouldn't be able to find him. He is protected by Fidelius… I literally _cannot_ tell you the location of his safehouse. I can, however, offer you something in lieu of that information…" Hermione crossed her arms and scowled.

"And what is that?"

"This," said an unexpected voice from the corner of the room. Hermione jumped and drew her wand, turning to face the unexpected guest. She watched the very familiar act of an invisibility cloak being removed, revealing the last thing she had expected to see that day.

It was Malfoy, yes, and yet it wasn't Malfoy at all. His hair, still the same distinctive shade of white blond, was longer now, tied back loosely with a strip of black leather. It was odd to see him out of school robes… Hermione had expected him to wear wizard's garments all the time, but he was clad in typical muggle attire; a dark green pullover and very expensive looking jeans. He had grown several inches, and now had the bone structure and musculature of a grown man, rather than a seventeen-year-old boy. It was his face, though, that sent a chill through Hermione and stopped her dead in the process of petrifying her old enemy.

At Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had always been top of the heap, and he constantly wore an expression that suggested he knew exactly where he stood in the hierarchy of the wizarding world. Hermione supposed that, in a way, that hadn't really changed. What _had_ changed was his position in that hierarchy. The Malfoy family had been disgraced, discredited and dismantled almost completely. He had lost the respect, fear and awe that his family name had afforded him for his entire youth. The old pride was still there in the cold gray eyes, but now it was defensive, almost hostile. The fine, pale skin was almost translucent now, stained a sickly shade of blue under the deep-set, intense eyes.

"Granger," he said, nodding almost indiscernibly. Hermione lowered her wand.

"Malfoy," She said quietly, still in shock. For a moment, none of the occupants of the room said anything, and then Snape rose silently from his chair and, taking his time to orient himself with the room once he was standing, left the room through a door Hermione had never seen opened before. The door clicked shut behind him and she was alone with Draco Malfoy.

"You might as well sit," He said to her, indicating her usual chair. "I get the feeling this is going to be a lengthy process."

Hermione took her seat, keeping her wand out. She head relaxed slightly after the initial shock of seeing her old enemy again, but then Snape had left, and she had felt… she wasn't sure now. Perhaps sorry that he was leaving, perhaps just slightly less secure.

"Severus has told me you ask after me every time you're here," Draco said easily. "I can't help but wonder why you're wasting your time on me, Granger." Hermione scowled at the wording.

"I thought if I could question you, perhaps it would clear things up about Dumbledore's death. Namely, why _you_ felt it necessary to kill him."

"I didn't kill him," Draco said firmly. "Clearly you've been fed a grossly distorted version of what went on that night."

"I know you didn't kill Dumbledore," Hermione said with a hint of frustration, "But I also know that you were going to. Or supposed to. Harry has been over the details of that night with me… I trust him to remember one of the most horrific nights of his life with a certain measure of accuracy."

"When it comes to Potter our levels of trust differ greatly," Draco muttered acidly. He had grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey from the shelf beside him and was pouring himself a generous amount. "Drink?" Hermione frowned.

"I don't think so," She replied, shaking her head. "Answer the question, please." Draco rolled his icy eyes and sighed.

"You always were so _direct_, Granger. No finesse, no technique…"

"If you think that, by insulting me, you are going to distract me enough to throw me off my line of questioning, you are sadly mistaken. Answer the question."

Draco paused for a moment, and then gave an almost imperceptible nod. "All right. I'm afraid it's painfully obvious, but I can spell it out for you if you wish." He shifted slightly in his chair, as if preparing himself for a rather long sit. "I was under the command of the Dark Lord. I'm afraid it was exactly what it appeared to be."

"You certainly weren't under Imperious… Harry told me Dumbledore attempted to bargain with you, and you were somewhat responsive," Hermione said, and then added, "Belatedly," as an afterthought. Draco scowled.

"If Potter has told you everything that transpired, why must I repeat it for you?"

"I want to hear it from your side," Hermione replied firmly. "Voldemort—" a small shudder passed through Draco at the name "oh, stop it— he had threatened you with your life, the lives of your loved ones, if you did not kill Dumbledore. So, what. You just went about the merry task of setting up a murder, unleashing Death Eaters into a school full of children, and then, when it came time to do the task you'd been set to, you couldn't even do it? Seems to me like you were having second thoughts, ones that seem to contradict your entire nature."

"I am not who you think I am, Granger. None of us Slytherins are, and the sooner you realize that, the easier your life will be. None of us go looking for evil…"

"_None_ of you?" Hermione raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Well all right, some do. But in most cases, _it _comes looking for _us_. And because of the expectations of people like you and your Gryffindors, it becomes harder every day to refuse what is offered to us. The side of the light has lost many a would-be supporter through its rampant house discrimination." Hermione's mouth was open in a tiny 'o'.

"This from you?" she said, disbelieving. "I have never heard such blatant hypocrisy in all of my…"

"I never said that I was innocent of bigotry, only that you and your lot are more guilty of it than you realize." Draco did not look smug. He looked angry.

"If you were so much better than we all thought, why didn't you seek us out, apologize for the way you'd acted towards us?

Why didn't you go to Dumbledore and ask for his help, or even offer yours, instead of setting the trap for him to be killed?"

Something behind Draco's eyes exploded. "I did what I had to do to protect myself and my family. Dumbledore wasted none of his precious time with me, he had me written off from the moment I stepped through the doors of Hogwarts, everyone did. Why would I chose to protect him over my own mother, over myself?"

"Because perhaps if Dumbledore were still alive, Voldemort would be dead by now."

"We both know that's not true." Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose as though his head ached. "If Dumbledore had had the power to destroy the Dark Lord, he would have done it many years ago. He didn't have that power. The Dark Lord is not Grindlewald… and Dumbledore was getting old. He didn't have a chance in a final battle, and everyone knew that."

"But you didn't have to kill him," Hermione said quietly.

"And I didn't."

"No," Hermione was starting to feel angrier by the second, "You let someone else do it for you, and then you ran, like a coward, to avoid taking responsibility for something you knew was wrong!"

"I am not a Gryffindor, Granger." Draco was scowling right back at her. "I don't use bravery as an excuse to act foolishly. Albus Dumbledore's death was regrettable, but ultimately my own survival was more important to me." He quirked a well-groomed eyebrow at her. "I am sorry if that destroys any delusions you may still have been harboring about my character."

"More like confirming suspicions," Hermione said blandly, with a feeling that she was getting nowhere. "So you and Snape have just been… in hiding? All this time?"

Malfoy smirked at this. "I suppose you could say that."

Hermione looked him over once more. "You don't look like someone who's been in hiding. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been enjoying the same lifestyle as always." This clearly was not true, judging from the look in those cold eyes, the weariness and limpness of his being, but Hermione decided to point out his obvious privilege anyhow.

"The Malfoys are a very well-established wizarding family, Granger, as I'm sure you know. I'm not sure if you know this, being Muggle-born— " Hermione started slightly at Draco's use of the correct terminology for someone of her lineage "—but it is common practice for families with a great deal of wealth to… invest some of their fortune in foreign bank accounts. Especially when those families have certain… unsavory connections."

Hermione nodded, thoughts of Swiss bank accounts and spy movies circling in her heads. "It's the same in the muggle world, sort of. People with power and influence can do basically anything… even disappear."

"Exactly." Draco smirked again, more comfortably this time. "So, you see, I haven't exactly been living in caves…"

"No… It looks as though you've been rather comfortably kept," Hermione replied, before looking around the room. "Snape, on the other hand… I would have thought Voldemort would take better care of the man who spied on Albus Dumbledore for decades and then took him out."

Draco's expression was as close to stunned as Hermione had ever seen it. "You've got to be joking, Granger," he said quietly. Hermione frowned.

"I fail to see how it would be funny if I was."

Draco laughed bitterly. "You stupid girl," he said, causing Hermione to glare angrily at him. "You can't possibly think that he's _still_ working for Voldemort?" at the look on Hermione's face, Draco shook his head in bewilderment. "You do, don't you?"

"Well he's certainly not working for us, is he? Who else would he be working for?"

Draco rubbed the spot between his brows again. "No-one… himself, perhaps, but other than that…" He looked up at her with piercing eyes. "He is a fugitive, Granger, we both are. Severus hasn't had contact with the Dark Lord or any other Death Eaters since that night on the tower when Dumbledore was killed. If that's why you're here, to get to the Dark Lord through him, then you might as well leave. He doesn't know anything, and I really doubt he cares any longer."

Hermione was stunned at all this new information. It all made sense. She had thought that, with his sight gone, the Dark Lord had rejected Snape as his Potions Master and had no further use for him. But now, little things, subtle things about her former Professor had begun to fall into place. If it hadn't made so much sense, Hermione would not have been able to believe it. "Why else would I be here?" She asked, a hint of frustration in her tone. She wasn't sure if she was posing the question to Malfoy or to herself, but he decided to put forth an answer anyhow.

"I don't know, Granger… I hadn't allowed myself to hope that you might be here to help him. I'm sure he hasn't either."

"Help him?" Hermione almost laughed. "Why on earth would I _help_ him?"

The rage returned to Draco's face very suddenly, and Hermione felt a twinge of fear. "Because, you stupid Mudblood, he's on your side! He always has been! If you foolish Gryffindors would get past your pride you would see that. And you have the nerve to call _us_ stubborn!"

Hermione suddenly felt like a guilty child who had been slapped on the wrist as a particularly nasty punishment. She wondered if Snape had taught Draco how to make a person feel that way. But then, Snape hadn't directed that sort of blow at her in many years. She recovered herself quickly. "I don't have any evidence that what you're saying is the truth."

"What do I care if you believe me?" Draco retorted, sneering. "I won't lose anything by it. Severus and I, we have nothing left to lose."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked carefully, in a neutral tone. Draco just looked through her, as if she was completely transparent. It was chilling.

"We have no allies, nobody but ourselves. The Dark would have us killed. So would the Light, for that matter. Neither side will trust us or have anything to do with us. We are completely on our own."

"I know how _that_ feels," Hermione said absently. Draco's finely shaped eyebrows arched upwards, and she shook her head at him. "Never mind." She sighed heavily. "This is pointless. I'm going."

"Fine!" Malfoy shouted as she turned from him. "And so you know, I wasn't entirely truthful with what I said a minute or so ago… I _had_ hoped that perhaps you would help him. I suppose that, while you _clearly_ missed nothing in assessing my character, I must have missed something while assessing yours."

Hermione didn't take the bait, and the last thing she saw as she apparated out of the cottage was a quiet desperation peering out from beneath the hostile scowl on Malfoy's face.


	5. I Will Share This Room With You

**A/N:** More!

No Snape in this chapter, but lots of Harry. I could call this chapter, "In which Harry is nice again and Hermione feels like a right douchebag". But I won't, because among other reasons, it doesn't fit in nicely with the little Billy Joel Song thing I've got going.

Also, Ron is a tool.

A note on scene breaks: **WickedlyWanton** mentioned that the POV switching should be split up with some sort of scene breaks. I'm not a terrible writer or anything… I really was inserting breaks, I just reflexively use asterisks, and continue to this day to forget that doesn't recognize them anymore. For whatever stupid reason that may be. So now I've replaced my little stars with some nice ghost noises (oooOOOoo…). Hopefully I've caught them all.

Thanks guys for reviewing! And to those of you that didn't… I see you. You show up in my stats window. So thanks for reading.

I promise there is oodles of Snape in the next chapter. Things start rolling after this one.

Love.

-N

PS: I really love Charlie Weasley. More than pretty much anything.

**Chapter 5**

_So I will share this room with you_

_And you can have this heart to break_

Hermione knew something was wrong the moment she stepped past the wards and through the front door of Grimmauld Place. The house was deathly still, and the air felt stale and murky. Heart pounding with unnatural force and head filling with thoughts of a conspiracy orchestrated by Malfoy and Snape, Hermione pulled her wand and tore up the stairs as quickly as her feet would allow. _How could I have BEEN so stupid?_

She came to an abrupt stop when she slammed into something solid at the top of the third flight of stairs. Thinking she was going to lose her footing and plummet backwards, Hermione was surprised when she stayed perfectly upright, held at the shoulders by a grip like a vice. She looked up at her rescuer.

"Ron," she sighed, relief at his quick reflexes flooding through her. Still gripping her shoulders, he picked her up ever-so-slightly and turned around so that she was no longer perched on her toes on the top step. "Thanks," Hermione said, moderately embarrassed at having to be manhandled. Thank goodness it was only Ron.

"Where've you been?" He asked in a quiet voice, before shaking his head. "Never mind, it doesn't matter… I'm glad you're back, and safe."

That set off all sorts of alarms; Ron for once using an indoor voice, Ron not caring where she'd been, Ron acting serious… Hermione felt the terror grip her again. "What's wrong?" she asked plainly, catching his eye and keeping it. "What happened, Ron?"

"Harry and Charlie… they went."

Hermione didn't bother containing her surprise. "To Azkaban? Already? I thought Harry would have at _least _ let me know…"

Ron shook his head. "You know Harry. And Harry knows you, and he knows he never would have gotten you to stay behind. Or me, for that matter. It's lucky he told us about the plan at all." A shadow crossed over Ron's face. "They're back now, but Hermione… it's bad…"

This wasn't happening. Were both Harry and Charlie in serious danger? "Tell me," she said firmly. Ron just shook his head.

"I don't know what there is to tell… Charlie seems to be tired, but all right. But Harry… I've never seen him like this. He's shaking and crying and so, so cold… Charlie hasn't let him go since they got back, Harry won't let anyone else near."

"Did they get the Horcrux?"

"Yes." Ron looked perplexed, perhaps that Hermione was thinking about Horcruxes while Harry was suffereing.

"What is it?" She asked tremulously.

"I don't know… I didn't bother with that right away, seeing as Harry was so…"

"Where is he?" Hermione demanded, and Ron simply pointed to one of the rooms down the hall, the room where his second oldest brother stayed when he was at Grimmauld Place. Hermione charged the door.

Charlie was sitting in the middle of the large four-poster, wrapped so completely around Harry that Hermione could only tell their limbs apart from the freckles. The Dragon tamer was rocking his solid frame back and forth, one callused hand running endlessly through the shock of raven hair. Harry's face was contorted with the most pained, horrific expression Hermione had ever seen on anyone. He didn't appear to be awake, or, if he was, he was not consciously so. She felt her heart contracting within her chest.

"My God," she whispered, moving towards the bed. "Charlie, what…"

The second Weasley boy looked over at her and it was clear to see that he had been crying. He continued to rock the Boy Who Lived back and forth as he shook his head at Hermione.

"He has so much pain," Charlie whispered, sounding as though he felt it himself. It was not the first time Hermione had wondered whether the Dragon tamer had a touch of Empathic power. Her heart went out to him. "He hides it so thoroughly, all the time, but they can tell. They use it against him."

"They?" Hermione asked, and then immediately answered herself. "The Dementors."

Charlie nodded slightly. "His own pain. The only weapon I can think of that would be this effective against him." She saw the older man shudder at the thought. "they wield it so efficiently."

Hermione frowned. "He's always been particularly vulnerable to them, and I can definitely see why, but… it's never been like this." The look in Charlie's eyes was one she didn't think she'd seen before, and yet it was familiar, in a way… it took her a few seconds to realize that she'd seen a similar look in the eyes of Sirius Black, of Bellatrix Lestrange, of everyone she'd met who'd ever been in Azkaban. "Is it that bad?" She whispered, terrified that she already knew the answer.

"Worse," Charlie said quietly. "You have no idea, Hermione, the things that are there. Things no being, human or not, should ever have to see. It is… a madhouse, a prison, a death camp. And the Dementors… there are _so many _of them, I hadn't even realized that there could _be_ that many. They target those whose magic is the strongest… and as you know, Harry is not exactly a lightweight." Charlie lowered his face into the raven hair and buried it there, both giving and seeking comfort, and Hermione suddenly felt like she was intruding on an intensely private moment. "I'm amazed he lasted long enough to find the thing and get out. I thought for a moment that he wouldn't. I think the only reason either of us managed is that we could distract them from each other. But they still went for Harry more than me."

Hermione wanted to reach out for Harry, do something— anything— to comfort him, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to do it. She backed away slowly, her eyes on her two friends as she retreated. "Let me know when he's better, Charlie," she said quietly, and then slipped out through the door before he could reply.

Ron was waiting for her in the hall, a questioning look on his face. She met his eyes and shook her head. "I don't want to talk, okay Ron?" He nodded dutifully. Hermione made her way up to her their room and threw herself on the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to imagine that the inconsistent white was all she could see, all she would ever see from that moment on. She went on that way, steadily terrifying herself , until Ron came in a half-hour later (thinking, she supposed, that he had given her enough time to get over what was troubling her). He didn't speak to her, simply lay down next to her on the mattress and molded his body against hers. His arms went around her with a familiarity that almost brought tears to her eyes, and she found herself sinking into the comforting embrace.

"I know," Ron murmured softly into her hair, "It's hard to see him like this."

Hermione was no longer thinking of Harry. "It is," she whispered before falling into a fitful sleep.

ooooOOOOoooo

It was already the next day when Charlie came to find them. Hermione rose from the bed, still in yesterday's clothes, almost as soon as the door opened. Charlie took one look at his sleeping brother and mouthed "Leave him be". Hermione nodded and followed the older Weasley into the hallway.

"Is he okay?" She asked, the old concern flooding back to her. Charlie nodded. He looked exhausted, worse that she'd ever seen him.

"We were up half the night… it was _bad_, Hermione, but we got through it, and now he's awake and lucid and asking for you and Ron. He still seems really drained, try not to be too alarmed." Hermione raised an eyebrow at that and followed Charlie down the hall. It must have truly been awful if he was warning her.

Harry was propped up against the headboard surrounded by a thick duvet and about a million pillows. His robes had been changed, and he looked to have showered. His glasses had slipped down his nose as he wrote carefully in some sort of journal. He looked up as they entered and Hermione felt a shock.

"Hey," He said, his voice sounding weary and more than a little hoarse. "Like the new look?" He turned his head further, showing off. The hair on the side of his head that had been facing away from them was completely, perfectly white, from Harry's temple to the top of his forehead.

"My God, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, stepping closer to the bed. Harry just laughed, although all three of them knew there wasn't much humor behind it.

"It's not that bad, really. All the most respected wizards have had white hair, after all." Hermione smiled indulgently at his joke. Charlie moved to stand beside her, closer to the foot of the bed.

"I think it looks kind of cool, actually," he said, sounding sincere. "Not that you _needed _another trademark, but…"

"It's better than a new scar," Harry finished with a slightly sarcastic smile at the other man. "Well, I think it's sort of muggle superhero-ish, which I suppose is worth it just for the irony," he said, fingering the shock lock contemplatively. Hermione actually laughed sincerely at this.

"If they're going to treat you like one, you might as well look the part," she said, feeling more at ease with the joking. She perched herself on a corner of the mattress and took one of Harry's hands. "You're sure you're feeling all right?"

"I don't really want to talk about it just yet," Harry said, with that young, scared look he sometimes got, "But yes, I'm fine."

"All right, we don't have to talk about it at all if you don't want. At least not until you've gotten out of bed," she said with a subdued smile. "But Harry… I wanted you to know that I was really scared, and worried, but I understand why you did it the way you did, and I'm just happy you're back in one piece and everything is going to be okay." Harry took her hands and met her eye with that level, all-knowing gaze of his. It wasn't the first time that Hermione had felt like he was looking right through her, and although she believed he would never use Occlumency on her without permission (she wasn't even sure he _could_), she did her best to clear her mind, well aware that some of her thoughts would cause both of them more trouble than they already had. But Harry just nodded at her, and squeezed her hands in his.

"I know, Hermione. I know how much you and Ron both care about me, and I know that sometimes the stress that we're all feeling gets in the way of our friendship. And I know that I sometimes act suspicious of you, but you have to understand that I sometimes transfer my feelings towards other people and situations onto those closest to me. I wanted to apologize to you, because I think you've felt it more than others, and without reason. I'm sorry, Hermione. You and Ron are my best friends, I… I hope you both know that." Hermione was spared to trouble of digging through her endless guilt for something acceptable to say when Harry asked, "Where _IS_ Ron anyhow?"

"Still sleeping," Said Charlie, who had moved towards the doorway without either of them noticing. "I'll go get him." Harry's eyes remained on the open doorway long after Charlie had left through it.

When Ron arrived, Harry promptly showed him his new hairdo. Ron announced, after a moment's silence, that it was in fact quite wicked, and then climbed onto the bed with Harry and began to discuss various distracting things until the mood in the room seemed to have permanently lifted. Hermione found herself cheering slightly in spite of her own worries, and she was again grateful to Ron for his inate ability to be the kind of friend Harry so desperately needed, the kind that she, despite her best efforts, could not be.

oooOOOooo

The owl came that night, while Ron was visiting Harry in his room and Hermione was getting ready to sleep. This time she cast the revealing spell right away, anxious to read the words that she knew would appear on the parchment. Her chest constricted slightly as she watched the tight, familiar script appear.

_Miss Granger,_

_Contrary to the demands of one Draco Malfoy, I do not require your assistance. Nor do I expect it. The same can be said for your trust. In fact, you would prove yourself more foolish than I have ever thought you to be, were you to freely offer either one. Of all people, I am the least likely to presume to order you to give your trust to anyone, least of all a person whom you have no reason to believe is worthy of it. _

_If I promise to banish Mr. Malfoy from the premises, will you return?_

Hermione released a breath that she was not aware she'd been holding. Snape was asking to see her again. Part of her was shocked at his audacity. The rest was shocked that he had not simply assumed she would return regardless of his asking, as she always had. She crossed the room to her secretary desk and took out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill.

_I will, _ she wrote hastily. Nervously, and as quickly as possible, she tied the parchment in a scroll and passed it to the owl, who this time had remained sitting on her windowsill. He took off immediately when she passed him the rolled parchment, and Hermione swung the window closed, watching as the black spot disappeared into the sky. She balled up the note, which had gone blank once more, and threw it into the fire. She was still staring into the flames when Ron came into the room five minutes later and pulled her along with him into their bed.

oooOOOooo

She was facing outwards into the room, laying resolutely still on her side of the mattress. Her body was exhausted, yet needy, and as she turned her face into her pillow she was reminded of her need for release by the smell of their lovemaking. She hadn't come in days. Ron had however, just recently in fact, and that was a blessed relief, because if he was physically sated, at least he would be moderately silent.

"Hermione…" _Maybe not._ She turned over with a feeling of frustration and foreboding. Ron never wanted to talk afterwards, and she felt a slightly sick feeling as she wondered what he wanted now.

"Ron, it's two thirty… I have errands to do tomorrow, can't it wait?"

Ron just laughed gently and cupped her face with one hand, staring at her in the pallid moonlight. "I'd say it's waited long enough. There's something I need to say."

Hermione sighed inwardly and put on a small smile. "Alright then, if you must."

Ron propped himself up on one elbow. "Hermione, we've been doing this for the past two years, and those two years have been the happiest of my life. I've never once regretted anything in that entire time except that I didn't let you know how I felt about you sooner, when we were in school. With what happened to Harry the other day… I was reminded of how important the time we have is. And I don't want to waste any more of it than I already have in letting you know exactly how I feel about you." Hermione shook her head.

"Ron… I know how you feel about me."

"Yes, but…" Ron swallowed nervously, "I want to prove it to you, so that there'll never be a doubt in your mind. I _love _you, Hermione, and I always will. And lately, things have been so good between us that it's made me think about, well, you know…"

"No, I don't," Hermione said with the horrible feeling that she did.

"Well, the future. I want to spend every minute of it with you. Hermione…" Ron fumbled with something behind him on the dresser, and Hermione felt her heart thumping relentlessly inside her chest. Ron turned back to her and looked deep into her eyes. "Will you marry me?"

Hermione stomach churned slightly, and she tried her best not to grimace. "Er… that is…" She took a deep, steadying breath. "This is very unexpected." Ron nodded, looking down at the ring he still clutched in his hands. Hermione looked at it as well. She knew Ron could ill afford something like that and must have been saving for months, and yet she was far from feeling any sort of gratitude. Ron reached up with one hand to caress her face.

"I understand that it's a big decision, and that I've had time to make it, and now I have to live with the fact that you're going to need time as well. You don't have to answer. Just know that, whenever you're ready to say yes, all you have to do is say it. And take as long as you need."

_Oh Ron,_ Hermione thought silently, _You really have grown up at last_. She wished she could give him the thing that he wanted, but there was no way. How could she ever be true to Ron when there was another man there in the room with them, living inside her head?


End file.
